Death Becomes Him
by Twist
Summary: *chapter four now posted* When Harry attempts to commit suicide, there are some bungled results. Caught in an amusing situation between life an death, a spirit comes along for the ride. 12-6-08: This will never be finished, huge shocker, I know.
1. Little Pills

_Death Becomes Him_  
By: Twist  
  
A/n: :P Hey! This is my weirdest yet! And it's completely original! I think... I hopes y'all enjoy the insanity inspired by the almighty VACATION!!!!!!! *laughs* Just read!  


  
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Harry Potter was your average wizard. Well, if you excluded the fact that he had killed the greatest Dark Wizard ever, that is. He was twenty-three years old, working for the Ministry of Magic, and living a perfectly normal (if not secluded) wizarding life. He had killed Lord Voldemort in his seventh year, had about a year in the spotlight and left back to the real world. That had left him hateful of the public and such, in other words, he didn't like people. Now that you have that background, let's start, shall we?  
  
~* <--Beginning :)  
  
Beep. Beep. Beep. Why wouldn't that dratted alarm clock shut up? Why did it have to be Monday? Why did he have to go to work at 7:30? Why did he wake up at 6:15? Harry pondered these thoughts as he rolled over and smacked the 'off' button on his alarm clock. Stupid mornings.  
  
* <--New scene :)  
  
"Morning Mr. Potter."  
"Morning," Harry growled as he stalked past the cheerful secretary at the front desk. Stupid woman was too old to wear that much make-up.  
"You have an interview with a young woman for the new position in about five minutes, a meeting with Cornelius Fudge in an hour, and I do believe that's it. Or, no, wait, I've your appointments mixed up, Fudge first, woman second."  
"Right," he snapped, "thanks for the clarity Sydell." She grinned sheepishly under his icy gaze. He turned on his heel and left. He had to be on the tenth story and seated in ten minutes. Stupid morning.  
  
*  
  
"Ahhh, Mr.Potter." Fudge's voice had grown older, dryer sounding.  
"Morning, Minister," Harry said respectfully, seating himself across from Fudge. The Minister appeared worried, Harry wondered why.  
"Harry," he said slowly, "Harry, you've given the Ministry three years of service and they have been very productive, however, some problems have aroused lately."  
"Yes?" Harry asked, trying desperately to sound polite. What was the old windbag getting at?  
"Harry, you seem to be irritable lately. You have always seemed like an angry person. Along with other-er-reasons, you have been making most of our staff uncomfortable. We just can't have that. I'm forced to let you go."  
Harry stared dumbly across the desk at the older man. He hadn't changed, he was still the same people-pleaser. No bother to the poor blokes he had to let go to keep the majority happy. Half of Harry was wanting to scream, yell and all around throw a fit. The other half needed to destroy something. He suppressed both sides, however, and forced a curt nod. "I understand, Minister."  
"Perhaps in a few years, Mr. Potter."  
"Yes, Minister." He pushed his chair back and stood up. " I suppose the woman I am to be interviewing is the girl taking over my job?"  
"Yes, Mr. Potter." The Minister looked relieved. He didn't know about the plots of murder in Harry's head.  
"I feel uncomfortable with that, would you kindly do it? I feel that you would be more qualified."  
"All right, Mr.Potter. Good day."  
"Good day, Minister." Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket and apparated.  
  
*  
  
Harry slammed the front door to his house. 'Good day, Mr. Potter.' That man had nerve. Everyone had nerve. Why didn't they leave him alone? Wasn't it bad enough his two best friends were dead? Everywhere he was in the public eye. Why couldn't people leave him alone? Suddenly a twisted solution came into his head.  
Suicide.  
It was simple, so brilliant. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before. He threw his coat aside and rushed to the bathroom. Where was the Tylenol? There, yes that was it. He poured half of the jar into his hand, about a hundred pills (it was a big jar, okay?). Slowly, almost enjoying it, he popped them into his mouth. One for Sydell, one for Fudge, one for Voldemort, one for Ron dying, one for Hermione dying, one for Dumbledore dying when he needed him most, the names and reasons kept coming. Slowly he started to feel ill, he didn't stop. Sight was becoming harder, he kept on it. He could hardly kneel anymore, only twenty to go. He shoved the whole handful into his mouth. There were too many, he started to choke. Lack of air, on top of drug overdose, started to take its toll. He blacked out.  
  
*  
  
"Comatose ... very lucky to be alive ... less than an inch from death ... very lucky indeed..."   
The words moved slowly through Harry's brain. What had happened? Oh, yes, the pills, he remembered. Lucky to be alive? Had he survived? Comatose? He was in a coma?!  
Knowing it would be useless, Harry tried to sit up. Then, much to his amazement, it worked. He opened his left eye very slowly, that worked too. What was going on? He looked back, there he was, laying there on the white linens, breathing slowly, otherwise motionless. But if he was down there, how could he be up here too?  
Warily, as though afraid of what he might find, he lifted his hand close to his face and turned it over and over. It was semitransparent. He looked down at his clothes. They were the same as they had been when he had left to work this morning. What was going on?  
"Finally, I thought you were just going to lay there for eternity." That voice was familiar. The owner of that voice could see him. Harry turned around to see who it was.  
"Welcome to the joyous world of the Semi-Dead." The all-too familiar person said. It was Voldemort, though a little different than Harry had remembered him. This was more like to modernized Tom Riddle.  
"What do you mean, Semi-Dead?" He asked.   
"The Semi-Dead, you're not dead but you're not alive, ass. Now get moving, I only have until the apocalypse." He started to leave.  
Harry knew he ought to be frightened, facing his worst enemy and all, but he was more interested in the matter at hand. "Where do you want me to go?"  
"Australia," Voldemort said sarcastically. "The after-life, numb-skull. Are you completely ignorant to this whole business or something? Honestly, I actually had hope you knew something about this so I didn't have to waste time telling you about this." He glared poisonously at Harry. "You're the dumbest person I've ever known, with the possible exception of Crabbe and Goyle."  
"Fine," Harry snapped, "you want me to go to the after-life, why should I? What are the consequences? You can't do anything to me. I could just stay here."  
Voldemort shrugged. "You could do that, but it would be pretty miserable. You also have a choice. I'm not supposed to tell you, though." He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it, and gave Harry a sidelong glance.  
"I have choices. That's interesting, you didn't present them to me immediately."  
"Like I said, I'm not supposed to tell you, only if you got difficult about the whole dying thing. You got difficult, I told you. You wanna do this easily, or do you want the bloody choices?"  
Harry thought. he could save himself a lot of time and trouble without the choices and just go ahead and die, or he could hear the choices and run with that. He chose the latter. "Give me the choices, consequences, and benefits of each."  
"Picky, are we?" Voldemort asked, grinning nastily. "All right, your first choice is to die. Only consequences there are the moaning, piteous souls mourning your death or the unfinished work you left behind. Benefits are that you see your precious friends and Mommy and Daddy again, not to mention knowing the future." He paused, took a long drag on the cigarette and continued.  
"Other choice is to remain on Earth, unable to die unless in extreme magical circumstances. The benefits are obvious, and the only consequence is that I have to take another life in the place of yours," he glanced at Harry's face. "Only problem with that is, it has to be one of your friends, and by that I mean close friends."  
"Why didn't you pick to stay on Earth?" Harry had to admit, knowing Voldemort, he was surprised that the old bloke had kicked the bucket at all.  
"You get three chances, I used all three, after that the only choice you have is to die." He threw the burnt butt of the cigarette over his shoulder; it landed dangerously close to an oxygen tank. "You decided yet or what?"  
Harry thought deeply. There had to be a loophole in this system somewhere, perhaps a way to get a better deal out of the whole business-if only he could find it.  
"Hurry up, time's a-wastin'! We're burning daylight here, excetera, excetera."  
Harry looked up. The voice was new, the grammar was different, and there was an American accent present. The owner was a man, no older than thirty. He had black hair (dyed blue at the ends), and purple eyes (forgive my crazed obsession with purple eyes, some mental disorders can't be helped Ü). He was wearing a tye-dyed shirt, dark blue jeans, and red canvas ankle-high sneakers. In short, he was quite odd-looking.  
"Who in the world are you?"  
"I am your advisor," he said. "Moldie-Voldie had an appointment with someone, had to run. I was gonna end up here anyway, I have a strange feeling about what choice you're gonna take. I shan't tell though, musn't influence the feeble thought process." He grinned, displaying rather sharper-than-normal incisors. "Name's Jake, no last name needed."  
"You're weird." That was stupid, last thing he needed was a dead person mad at him, maybe he'd end up like that kid in The Sixth Sense, or something.  
"Thank you." That was weird.  
Harry thought hard, he shouldn't be worrying about the appearance of the rather odd person rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Suddenly, it came to him. "Will I get to see Ron and Hermione first if I pick to stay alive?"  
"Nope, only way you get to see your buddies again is if you die." He glanced at Harry's face. "What're you glaring about, I didn't make the rules! You want a personal conversation with God, I'm sure that can be arranged."  
Harry sighed. Oh well, he'd lived for five years without the two of them, it couldn't get worse. And a second chance at life was very tempting... "I'll take it," he said with finality (is that a word? No? Well, it is now.).  
"Which one? Or did I miss something?"  
"Life, I'll take the second chance, I wish I had a second chance, whatever you want me to say."  
"Is that your final answer?"  
Harry squared his shoulders. "Yes."  
"Who do you wanna knock off?"  
"Er-" Harry hadn't exactly thought about that. He wasn't sure he had any "real" friends, Hermione and Ron had been the only two people he'd ever really been close to. He thought about it for a bit. It came to him: Seamus. He hated his job, his life, he had attempted suicide twice (he had told Harry all this in a surprising letter last month), he was perfect. "Seamus Finnigan."  
"Okay, whatever you say. Now that that's all said and done, back to your body with you." He pulled a wand out of his pocket and muttered a string of charms and curses. Harry began to feel horribly sleepy. Jack's voice ended and right before passing into unconsciousness Harry heard him mutter; "Geeze, I'm glad I'm rid of that cursed thing..."  
  
*  
  
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter, are you alive, can you say something? Could you wake up, please?"  
Harry opened his eyes groggily. All of these voices were making his head hurt, he wished they would stop. He felt awful; his head was sore, his fingers tingled unpleasantly, his mouth felt like the bloody Sahara, what was wrong with him?  
"Mr. Potter, can you speak?"  
"Yeah," he groaned, croakily. He wished he hadn't; his throat felt like there were razors stuck in it.  
"Thank God, I thought you were having a seizure or something. You were covered in sweat, shaking and muttering about the Dark Lord and such...Never mind, what am I saying? I'll just get you worried. I guess since you're awake I'll go get the doctor to come and take a look at you."  
The nurse was babbling her head off as she left the room, but Harry wasn't listening. She had said something...God, the Dark Lord, what was this? Voldemort and God, what could they possibly have anything to do with each other? Still thinking, he opened his eyes. His vision was foggy, but he looked around the room nonetheless. A blurry, tye-dyed figure stood in the corner of the room. It was as if a floodgate had burst open. Memories of his death and brush with the after-life poured into his skull.  
"What are you doing here?" he demanded angrily.  
"Er, well..." Jack sounded uncomfortable. "Let's just say that things didn't go exactly according to the plan."  
"What'dyou mean, 'not exactly according to plan,' I thought you had it under control!"  
"We did, kinda. Some complications aroused when we went to get Seamus, that's all."  
"So why can I still see you? I thought you were going away!"  
"No, you weren't going to be able to see me, that's the way it should be, but something happened with Seamus and it only half-worked."  
"What happened with Seamus?"  
"Well..." The blurred figure shifted from one foot to the other and back again. "You see, when Voldie went to get him-"  
"Voldemort?! Why him?"  
"He was the initial one to do that sort of stuff. Anyway, as it turns out, Seamus was at the point you were at. He was just about to pick death when Voldie showed up. The guy taking care of him happened to be your dad, and those two don't get along very well." Harry snorted. "They got into a Wizard's Duel and ended up blowing the room apart. Needless to say, your buddy died.   
"The reason you're still alive is he wasn't officially 'dead' when you picked him, but the job only got done halfway."  
"So what does that mean?" Harry asked, dreading the answer.  
"You are officially the Living Dead."  
Harry thought he was going to pass out. His vision began to swim in front of his eyes, and he automatically pulled his glasses onto his face. The room came into sharp focus, just as the doctor burst in the door.  
"Mr. Potter! I'm so very glad to see you've awaken and are just fi-" The doctor stopped mid-sentence. His wire-framed glasses slid down his nose and his jaw dropped. _What's his deal?_ Harry wondered. Jack was banging his head against the wall. "Evee," the doctor started again slowly, "Evee, did you by any chance check his monitors before you came to see me?"  
"No sir, wh-" She too had peered up at the screens and stopped, her jaw dropping as well. Harry craned his neck around to get a look.  
His jaw dropped. The heart monitor read 'zero,' the blood pressure read 'zero,' and the breath rate read 'zero.' By all of the monitors, he was dead.  
"Let me find my stethoscope." The doctor was in shock. Harry was too, and after five minutes of questions, deep breaths, and little-squeezie-things-that-go-around-your-arm the doctor couldn't find any reason to explain Harry's-um, well, for lack of a better (or real) word-aliveness. All three of them were very nervous at this point.  
"I'm going to go find a doctor to get a second opinion," the doctor said, rushing hurriedly out of the room. "Evee, would you like to come with me?"  
"Yes, doctor," she said, hurrying out of the room at his heels. Harry saw them break into a run once they exited the room, he would've ran too.  
"Time to go," Jack swooped over and grabbed his arm.  
"Wait a second, what are you doing? I want to know if I'm dead or not! Why do I have to go?"  
"Trust me, you're dead. Now get out of that bed, they'll be back any second." Jack was digging around in drawers, trying to find something. "D'you see where they put you're clothes, by any chance?"  
"No, now why do we have to go? What's so important about this whole thing?"  
Jack conjured a black cloak and a hat out of thin air and threw them at Harry. "Wear them. We have to go because you're dead and unless you want to be looked at the rest of your life by freaky science dudes and considered a freak of nature than we really must get a move on."  
The scientist idea rapidly changed his mind about the second opinion and he jumped out of bed and pulled on the cloak and hat.  
"If anyone asks you why you were back there," Jack said, pushing open the door (Harry was glad, he didn't really feel up to it) , just tell them your son died. Try to disguise your voice, too."  
"All right," Harry said, pulling the hat down over his face and tightening the cloak around his hospital gown. He shuffled at a brisk pace into the hospital, making a beeline for the elevator.


	2. Bus Rides and Such

"> Death Becomes Him --> 

**Death Becomes Him  
Part 2  
**By: Twist

A/n: And part two takes a premier! Yay! This was relatively fast for me, That's good. I got four reviews for the last part, I WANT MORE!!! Like it says in the summary: 'The good read stories, the truly divine review.' My muse said that. My muse is really not right in the head. He's cute though. ^_^ You can't say that muses aren't guys either, 'cause mine IS!!! Hehehehehehehehehehehehe!!!! Okay, enough of my sensless rambling, on with the show!!!  
  
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it.  
  
_Dedicated to Bob Sagget, he left _America's Funniest Home Videos _too early in my opinion. If you're reading this, Bob, I still am faithful to you. Also dedicated to Bill Nye the Science Guy, I'm sorry I can't watch your show anymore, have fun on BattleBots._  
  
~*  
  
The elevator ride seemed to take forever. Harry rocked back and forth on his toes, watching the numbers change attentively. They put him on the eighth floor, for the sake of McMuffins, why did they have to put him up so high?  
"Alright, now as soon as the elevator doors open you are going to walk as fast as possible toward the exit without looking suspicious," Jack was muttering into his ear.  
Three...two...one...Now was the time to run! Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and walked quickly towards the sliding doors, making sure to keep his head down. Thankfully, no one stopped him on his way out and he made it to the London Street unnoticed. He heard Jack sigh behind him. '_Mental note to self,'_ he thought, _'ask that guy why he's following me around when I get home.'   
_Harry looked around, just to get himself oriented. He had to move quickly, the hospital guys were sure to come looking for him any time now. Spotting a Bus Depot, he walked casually over to it, he would hop the but to Berryshire Street and walk home from there. He tried very hard to stand casually at the Bus Depot, but it wasn't easy, considering it was a windy day and his cloak kept blowing up to reveal his hospital gown. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity (it was actually only two minutes) the bus pulled up. Harry conjured some money into the palm of his hand and gave it to the bus driver. He sat in the front, the less he had to walk on this bus, the better.  
As the bus started to move his eyes began to wander about the bus, settling on a few female occupants, or a strange-looking teenager. There was a fat old woman sitting at the back of the bus holding a small white dog, muttering into its furry head. Somewhere near the back of the bus, Jack was looking up a younger woman's dress, Harry made no attempt to stop him. There was a shout of laughter from the seat next to Harry's; two teenage girls were looking at the classified ads, Harry got a glance at the ad they were both pointing to.

_9 Year Old Yorkshire Terrier  
Free to a good home  
Hateful little dog_

Harry had to surpress a snort of laughter, who would put that in the paper and expect their animal to sell? Probably some daft old woman who insisted on telling the truth and convinced that someone would buy her dog because she was honest about it.  
"There are some fine-looking women back there," Jack said, seating himself next to Harry.  
"Oh," Harry said coldly. "Did you decide that by looking at their legs or did you actually see their faces?" He knew that was a little nasty, but he could really care less.

Jack didn't seem to be insulted in the least. In fact, he came back quite nicely. "Well, yes, mostly the legs, but I did check to see if the faces are desirable before checking the legs out."

"Why do you care about that stuff anyway," Harry asked, "you're dead anyway. It's not going to make a difference."

Jack shrugged. "You could look at it that way, or you could see it that I am merely using death as an excuse to become invisible and look up women's dresses. I got caught doing that once and the lady whacked me upside the head with her purse. What's really sad about that story is that she wasn't much to look at, either." Harry glared at him in disgust. _'Is this how all American wizards act?'_ he asked himself. Much to his horror, a voice inside his head answered: _'Pretty much, yeah. Ones in my age group, anyway.' _He gaped at Jack in a mixture of horror and anger, only to have his scariest look turned down by a cocky grin.

"All who're getting off at Berryshire may leave now," the bus driver said rudely. People gave Harry strange looks as he got off. He realized that they couldn't see his dead 'friend' and probably thought he was quite insane. He exited quickly and shuffled down the rainy street to his house. "I hate you," he growled to no one in particular. He couldn't figure out how he had gotten exactly where he was at this particular moment. He traced back as far as he could in his memory and arrived at the night Voldemort had tried to kill him. Why did everything seem to go back there?

"You're a very angry person, you know," Jack commented. "Always blaming it on people other than yourself. Or Fate. She is a lovely woman though, I can see why you wouldn't blame anything on her. Very pretty. I think she needs glasses though and refuses to get any, that's why the future is so uncertain, she can't see where to put her finger."

"Oh, shut up," Harry snapped. He was in no mood to hear why everything happens the way it does. In fact, his mood had been greatly reduced since he had discovered that Voldemort had botched his death and he was going to spend an eternity without a heartbeat (I mean, honestly, wouldn't that depress you?). Voldemort was at fault for everything. For Ron and Hermione's deaths, for Dumbledore's death, for Guy Fawkes, for the stupid historians getting it all wrong and saying Christopher Columbus discovered America when he had really discovered the Caribbean…

"That's getting a little far-fetched right there. I know Voldie was an old fart, but I have _serious_doubts about him being around in 1492." The idiot standing next to Harry replied. Why couldn't he just stay out of other people's heads?

"'Old fart' is a bit much, don't you think?" A dry, cold voice asked from behind the two of them.

"Oops, sorry there. Didn't know you were there." Jack didn't seem the least bit phased. Harry had doubts about humiliation being one of his emotions. "I thought you were working, anyway."

"I get breaks too, you know," Voldemort replied. There was a click of a cigarette lighter from behind them. "S'not like you're special or anything."

Harry tried to ignore the two of them arguing the rest of the way home. When he got to his front porch he shoved his key into the keyhole and pushed the door open. He hoped Voldemort didn't show up every time he got a break, he reckoned he would go insane. The fact that it was pouring rain and they were all soaking wet didn't help. How exactly, a dead person could be soaking wet was beyond Harry, but he supposed it could happen judging by the fact Voldemort and Jack both managed to track substantial amounts of mud into his foyer. Great, the more mess to clean up, the merrier.

"Don't smoke in my house," Harry growled over his shoulder.

"Fine," Voldemort growled back, obviously enjoying himself. "I have to go back to work now anyway."

"Don't ever bother coming back, either," Harry yelled. He hated today. He really did. And worst of all, he couldn't die. He walked into his study and slammed the door behind him, for dramatic effect.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "I had no idea twenty-odd year old males experienced PMS, but I guess I could be wrong." He shrugged and flicked the cigarette onto the living room floor where it began a small flame for a few seconds before disappearing. He grinned nastily at Jack. "Good luck," and with that last derogative comment (it just isn't professional for a villain of his caliber to leave _anywhere_without a derogative comment) he vanished in a cloud of black mist. Jack rolled his eyes and flopped down onto the mat. While sitting cross-legged on a mat is considered 'odd' by the standards of 'normal people', it is perfectly normal in my mind and therefore shall be looked upon as normal in this story.

**In the study…**

Harry sat down at the mahogany desk and placed his head in his hands. All this was going to take some serious thinking. First of all, he would have to leave his house; people would come straight here if they were looking for him. That meant he would have to decide what he could take with him to wherever he was going. He could load things onto hid Firebolt, of course, and his wand was an absolute necessity. What to take, though? His CD wallet, a CD player, clothes, money, and perhaps some of his ID cards. Yes, that would be it. Now all that was left was to go outside into the hall and face Jack and possibly Voldemort if the miserable old bat had hung around. He mustered up his courage and marched into the hall.

It wasn't that bad, actually. Voldemort had buggered off and Jack was slumped backwards onto the door, fast asleep. He walked casually up the stairs, unaware that Jack had opened one eye just a bit and was watching his progress up the stairs. "Knew you had to come out of there eventually," he muttered. He listened while Harry scraped the trunk about his room and cursed softly as he tried to find things that were perhaps hidden away in corners or had pieces missing to them. When the movement upstairs had stopped Jack dropped his head backwards onto the door and pretended to sleep once more. Harry tromped by him in his still muddy boots and into the garage. Jack climbed to his feet and followed Harry warily into the hall. He watched as Harry opened the door and walked out into the rain, mounted his Firebolt and flew off.

"Dang," Jack cursed. "Just like him to fly to wherever he's going. How on Earth am I going to catch up to him?" He walked through the closed door and glared up at the receding dot in the sky. It looked like Voldemort had been right; he did need luck.

*

Harry was quite enjoying the wind in his face as he flew over the English countryside. It completely baffled him why he hadn't though of this before as a form of stress relief, perhaps then he wouldn't have gone and killed himself. No! He musn't blame himself for things that weren't his fault. It was all Voldemort's fault, yes, that was it. Feeling a little better, but a touch guilty about dumping everything on Voldemort, he concentrated on where he was going to go. A different country, perhaps. That was always a good option when you're trying to get away from someone or something.

Harry was vaguely thinking of flying off to Africa, or the States, even, when a nasty thought interrupted him. _What if he got hurt?_ It wasn't really all that bad, but since he didn't have a heartbeat or any signs of breathing, a hospital wasn't the best place for him to end up. If he got hurt and then fell unconscious...

Harry shook his head, he couldn't think of that. Not now, not here, he was too stressed out. Shoving any thoughts of injury, Jack, or Voldemort out of his mind, he tipped his broom up and flew higher, higher, into the clouds.

~*

a/n: interesting, huh? That's what kewl about pixie sticks!!!! *rambles incoherently* Okay, 'Twisted Cliche is a'comin soon, ne'er fear. So this was this chapter, please read and review!!!! =)


	3. On The Way to the USA...

Death Becomes Him

Chapter of Three (?_?)  
  
By: Twist the Insane  
  


A/N: Hello, peepsils! Bummer about ff.n being down for so long, huh? *giggle* I am so hyper for no particular reason, and I really shouldn't be 'cause my horsie's sick. Poor Domy's got a temp. of 102. *hugs Domy* It's okay, baby, mommy will visit you every day, even if I can't ride you for the clinic. Anywhoosles, this is the long-delayed third chapter to my story about Harry being semi-dead. I'd like to thank Lifetime (I can't believe I even considered watching it) for inspiring me to get off my lazy arse and get to writing this. Long live Green Day and remember: Carpe Diem! Life only lasts so long, keep that phrase in mind when considering going out with a guy and you're not sure! =) Peace, and enjoy!  
  


Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. If you think I own it then I might, but probably not. There are some things you might recognize from Terry Pratchett, some stuff out of my fav game Lords of Magic and the rest is pretty much Harry Potter. Oh, and some of Monty Python. I just own my CD player, thanks. DON'T SUE ME!!!!!

~*  
  


Harry touched down somewhere in a forest, presumably still in England. He had gotten lost and hadn't been all that sure of his aging Firebolt making it over the Atlantic Ocean. He had decided on America, at least people spoke English there. Anyway, if he had any trouble there at all he could go to Canada. Or Mexico. It didn't really matter now, he just had to figure out how to find the coast. Maybe he could catch a plane to the States instead, at least if it crashed it wouldn't be his fault. Maybe it would be Voldemort's. One never knew. He leaned backwards onto a tree and sighed, this was harder than he'd thought. 

"Someone help me," he muttered to himself. "Please, just tell me where I am!" A small woodland creature ambled out of the bushes and looked curiously at him. Then it grinned. "Bugger off, whatever you are!" Harry screamed at it. It grinned wider.

"If you're going to put it that way..." it said. There was a bang, a considerable amount of smoke, and several stars. A tall girl stood in it's place, her robes swirling around her legs and trim figure. They were such a dark purple that they were almost black. Her hair was dark brown. She had the tanned look of someone who spent a lot of time out of doors and had the smell of someone who owned a lot of pets. She extended a thin hand and grinned. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter. Lord Mort was speaking to me of you just this morning. It seems that in a way you have cheated death. I heard your cry for help and couldn't help but be intrigued. How may I help you?"

Harry stared. "Um-er-well..." He gulped. "I suppose you could tell me where I am and how to get to the nearest airport?" His voice cracked on the last word. He blushed furiously. This seemed to amuse her.

"You my friend, are in the Forest of Eternal Rest." She giggled again. "How silly of me not to introduce myself, I fear I am not well-acquainted with humans. My name is Lady Canis, Mistress and Keeper of all animals. Forgive me for neglecting to say so earlier. Is an airport, by any chance, one of those places with large aluminum bird-like things that make a terrible amount of noise and don't fly well at all?"

"Um, yes, actually. Do you know where one is? It would be awfully helpful." Harry thought for a moment. "Who's Lord Mort?"

She smiled. "He is of no concern to you, Mr. Potter." She giggled for the third time. "You are many, many miles away from an airport, I fear. However, if you use your broom and fly about five hundred miles to the north you should be able to find a small town where people there will perhaps be able to better instruct you on where to find an airport." She glanced at the sun, and her mouth formed an 'O' of surprise. "My gracious, time has slipped by so quickly without my noticing! How very unusual. Well, Mr. Potter, it certainly has been a pleasure meeting you, good luck on your travels!" There was another bang and Harry saw a white dove flying off into the trees. Subconsciously, he remembered the line from Monty Python and the Holy Grail: "What a strange person." He grinned and picked up his broom.

*  
  


"How am I supposed to know where he ran off to?" Jack demanded angrily. Remembering who he was talking to, he quieted down and looked at his feet, shuffling them and muttering something along the lines of 'Sorry, sir".

Lord Mort gave him a disgusted look. "I entrusted you to watching out for one of the four people on this planet who are in the same situation and you let him escape! I should've know not to trust a bumbling fool such as yourself take care of this, you shall be grievously punished." Jack paled. "I fear it may be something along the lines of-" the Lord of Death was cut short by an augrey beating one of its wings against the blackened window of the office. He waved his hand -or, rather, the space where his hand would be- casually and the window opened. The augrey entered and dropped a note on his scorched desk. Lord Mort picked it up and read it quickly. Then he grinned {* Or, he would have ginned had he had a real face and mouth}. "It appears that Fate is smiling in your general direction. Lady Canis has just written me that she has met your client in the," he pulled a face {*if he had one, that is}, "Forest of Eternal Rest. She pointed him to the town some five-hundred miles north of it. Pequea, I believe it is called. If you're lucky you might be able to get there in time to catch him. Now get out."

Jack did not hesitate to obey the orders. Lord Mort was possibly the scariest of the eight Lords. At least the rest of them had bodies; Lord Mort was just a black cloak hanging on the thin frame of someone you could only see if you really tried hard. Technically he was invisible, but when you looked through his hand or his head, if you were daring enough, things on the other side were distorted. Several other Lords in the past had commented on this, and found that they had received a very short and personal visit from him. He was only the third Lord of Death since the God in charge of Fire, Water, Air, Chaos, Animals, Life, Earth, and Death had gotten tired of doing so and hired people to do it for him. Lords of Death tended to stick around for awhile.

Once outside of Lord Mort's building -a very tall, rickety, and foreboding looking structure- he looked around for a clear spot to apparate from. A large white horse tied to the wooden rail whickered and pricked it's ears. Jack gave its nose a pat as he passed and walked over to a clearing. He had never been to Pequea, which would make it difficult, but the dead gained something on the living when it came to apparating. If you knew the name of the place and something it happens to be near, you have an 80% chance of getting there. Jack closed his eyes and concentrated. Quite suddenly, he wasn't there and all that remained was a small scorched part of the brown and dried grass.

*  
  


Harry's feet banged down onto a rock when he first arrived in Pequea. Limping slightly and cursing, he started to walk toward the town. It looked small and remote, perhaps the kind of place that was entirely self-sufficient and had its own currency. By the look of it, the currency was chickens, cows and any other farm animal you could trade. He slowed his progress, perhaps people here wouldn't know what an airport was. In that case he would have to ask the way to the next town. He didn't think he could stand flying anymore, the Firebolt would lurch occasionally and his bottom was getting sore. He supposed he could risk apparating, but in a forest so obviously magical as this, he couldn't be sure what the outcome would be.

"I'm not sure what the outcome would be but I'm betting it couldn't be all that bad." Jack had appeared at his side quite suddenly. "I just apparated here."

Harry was about ready to strangle someone. "What are you doing here?!" he yelled. "I thought I had gotten rid of you! How did you find me?" He heaved and glared at Jack, who had backed off slightly.

"Um, technically I'm supposed to be with you at all times and when I don't I get in very big trouble," he said sheepishly. This was followed by some shuffling of feet and several steps backwards. "I didn't make the rules and if you get out by yourself we're both in big trouble." He gave him a wary look.

Harry calmed down slightly. At least he'd finally found out why Jack was following him everywhere. "What kind of trouble would we get in?" he asked in his friendliest growl.

"It's not fun, I know that much. Supposedly it's very painful. If you want to know all the details ask Voldemort, I think he knows a little more about it than I do."

Harry felt another pang of guilt. It couldn't be all Voldemort's fault... But it was. He rearranged his mind to accommodate the fact that Jack was looking out for both of them and the only reason he followed him was because he had to. "How did you find me?" He asked as calmly as he could at the moment. His voice still sounded agitated, but at least he didn't sound like he was ready to kill someone on the spot.

"Lord Mort told me." Jack suddenly looked terrified. "Um, I mean, someone told me you were headed this way and..." He trailed off after seeing the curious look on Harry's face.

"Who's this Lord Mort? Some lady in the forest mentioned him... Lady Canis I think she was... Why does everyone who's dead or possessing of some large amount of power know about him but I'm semi-dead and I have know idea who he is?"

"No one you need to be concerned about as long as I'm with you."

"It's not Voldemort is it?"

"No! No, of course not. He's just someone you really don't need to be concerned about. Don't waste your thoughts on him." He had such a tone of finality in his voice that it was hard to argue with him. Harry fixed his eyes on the small wooden huts in the village. His mind was slowly turning his situation over and over in slow, lazy circles. He his mental list went something like this:

1) He was clinically dead, and for some reason able to walk around and be otherwise normal.

2) There was an occasionally annoying spirit following him around that no one else could see.

2a) This sprit and Voldemort seemed to be watching him.

2b) There was nothing he could do about this.

3) Someone called "Lord Mort" was involved.

3a) No one would talk about Lord Mort.

4) Continued existence in England was basically impossible.

5) People were looking at him strangely.

"Look as normal as possible, please," Jack hissed into his ear.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, just as he realized what exactly Jack meant. Everyone around Harry looked suspiciously 14th century. There was even a large castle in the middle of the village. Even Jack was wearing clothes that looked appropriate for the supposed time period.

"'Ere! You!" A small man wearing rags approached Harry, his index finger outstretched and pointing. "You there! Where do ye come from?" he grinned manically at Harry.

"What should I say?" Harry hissed to Jack, who mouthed something along the lines of "Spain." "But I don't speak Spanish!" Harry hissed back, becoming more hopeless as villagers grinned at him and whispers sounding like 'madman' broke out. Jack sighed, and vanished. There was suddenly and occupied sort of feeling in his brain.

"Hola," he heard himself saying without his mind actually authorizing it. "Me llamo Timotaeo. Me gusta-er-la comida italiana, football, y la musica rock." He felt himself grinning insanely. The villagers nodded and went back to their business, muttering about "bloody Spaniards." There was a sudden emptiness in his head and Jack reappeared next to him.

"What did you just do?" he growled. Jack simply shrugged.

"Occasionally possession is required."

"Don't do it again!" Harry almost shouted. "That was a very uncomfortable feeling."

"Yeah, and you've some nasty images in that mind of yours. Let's find an airport." Jack and Harry left quietly the way they came and Harry climbed on his broomstick. After a brief discussion on the fact that Jack couldn't fly and the fact that Harry was not letting Jack onto the back of the Firebolt they both decided it was better for Jack to apparate and Harry to fly. There was, however, confusion on where to end up.

"Why not that big field that airports always have around them?" Jack suggested.

"See, there's two problems with them."

"What?"

"The airplanes and the fact that there are no trees or covering to hide me. I would apparate but I'm not sure my Earthly body would stand up against the magic," he added sarcastically.

Jack thought for a moment. "Aren't there usually forests or lakes or something around airports? Didn't you bring your invisibility cloak?" Harry slapped his forehead.

"I forgot!" he exclaimed. "I'll just use that, land in some abandoned reach of the parking lot or something. I'll meet you at the airport." Jack nodded and disappeared with a small wisp of smoke. Harry sighed yet again and set off into the sky.  
  


***  
  


About three hours later Harry landed in the parking lot of the London airport, wondering why he hadn't just gone here first. Putting it down to panic and confusion and overall Voldemort, he shrank his broom and walked toward the terminal. Every once and awhile a woman would announce that one pilot or another had a call to take or to call a child to the security desk. As he neared the baggage stations he spotted Jack, and walked casually in his general direction. Jack was currently talking with the spirit of an old custodian, hopefully attempting to explain to the man that he was now dead and mopping the floor didn't really make a difference anymore. Harry sidled up to Jack, and tapped him on the shoulder.

"I'm really serious you can - hello, Harry." Jack looked at the custodian and sighed. "You really have to feel bad for those people that get their life stuck in a rut and don't stop what they're doing, even after they've died." Harry nodded and they watched people for several minutes. "You'd better go and get you ticket, the not many planes go to the states." Harry nodded and set off. After waiting in line for what seemed like ages, he arrived at the counter and was taken by surprise by who was standing there.

"One ticket for Potter heading to America," Voldemort said sarcastically, typing information into a computer nonchalantly. "One way, any particular city?" he grinned evilly, "or do I get to pick?"

"What are you doing here?" Harry hissed, not realizing for a moment that normal people had just seen the young counter attendant ask Harry his name and he had asked her quite nastily what she was doing there.

"Denver it is then," Voldemort said, typing it in. "I'm just doing my job." He shrugged, typing something else into the machine. "How many bags do you plan to take with you?"

"I thought that was all up to Jack!" Harry almost yelled. Several blue-clad security officers were now watching with interest.

"Twelve? Right, that's ten pounds per extra piece so your total is now £4,392, which has been immediately deducted from your checking account." He hit a few keys on the board and grinned. "See you in America." There was a swooshing noise and he evaporated into smoke, letting Harry see for the first time the blonde and rather confused and frightened counter attendant. He felt a pair of hands close down on each arm. Alarmed he looked at the owners of the hands, and became quite alarmed.

"What is your name, sir?" asked on security guard personably, though his grin countered his pleasant tone.

"Harry Potter," Harry said nervously, hoping to high heaven that one of the security guards was a wizard. "I'm sorry about that, I was having an issue." An idea popped into his mind. "Occasionally if I don't take my medication I think people are someone else, it only lasts about five minutes, I think I'm over it now..." He grinned feebly, hoping they were stupid enough to fall for it.

"Are you sure-" the larger guard started, but was cut off by his counterpart.

"My auntie had that," said the guard, looking rather glazed. His accent had a strange hint of American. "I say we let him go..." the guard glaned at the other's name tag briefly, "...Fred. He can't really help it."

Fred nodded grudgingly, letting go of Harry's arm. The other guard lat go and walked away, looking confused. Jack had suddenly appeared. "Your ticket's in your pocket. We'd best get to your gate. Plane leaves soon." Jack and Harry walked off, made it through security (Jack set the alarm off, which rather puzzled the guards), and wandered down to Harry's gate. They boarded without incident an took their seats in the back of the plane.

"Trust Voldemort to get me the worst seat on the plane," Harry griped. His seat was right by the engine, and as soon as the pilot turned the airplane on and booted up the engines the ride was unbelievably loud. Somehow, halfway through the trip, Harry managed to fall asleep.

  
  


End Part 3

A/n: *grins* I finally got this part out! I am so proud of myself. I've taken a renewed interest in this story, so I promise if you give me reviews I'll get the next part out soon! =) Peace out y'all, and Sean Biggerstaff in my hottie!

~~Twist, who worships Sean Biggerstaff


	4. Welcome to Denver, Home of Snow

Death Becomes Him: Chapter 4

By: Twist

A/n: Hey y'all! What's up? If you're not good, then: awwww. If you are: Terrific! I have the flu! Anyway, this is the first fic I'm typing on my new computer, and I'm just feeling all special over here. That's why this chapter took so long anyway, I had to transport all of my files, and those of you who've done that know how much fun it is, especially when the last computer doesn't have a CD/RW drive. Curse it! Anyway, please read, enjoy, and review. =)

~*

            "Excuse me? Sir?" Harry was aware of a quiet voice and a small nudging on his shoulder. "Sir? Sir, the plane has landed."

            "What?" Harry asked, rather groggily. 

            "The plane has landed. You're in Denver now."

            "Oh, oh yes. Sorry," Harry said stretching and yawning. It felt odd, inhaling air and not really needing to. Almost like eating those extra few bites of turkey at Christmas. "What time is it?" He asked.

            "It's four in the morning."

            "Damn him," Harry muttered. He caught the look on her face. "Never mind, my friend booked this flight for me, that's all." He realized what a huge thing he had just said, shortly after the sentence had spilled from his mouth. He had called Voldemort his friend. Jack materialized next to him.

            "So are you actually going to get off of this plane or what?" he asked. "I really want to see the mother country again."

            "Couldn't you have just gone off any time you wanted?" Harry asked. 

            "No, not really," Jack said. "I can't do anything without the permission of the main head council thing and they usually don't grant personal counselors like myself little pleasures like that."

            Harry wandered off of the plane and went down to the baggage claim. There were families reuniting there, hugging and kissing and so forth. There was Voldemort there, grinning evilly.

            "Why are you everywhere I go?" Harry hissed in frustration. "You're always showing up at least once a day! Just stop stalking me, alright?"

            "Temper, temper. I, incidentally, am the one who made sure your baggage was burned ceremonially. It's smoldering in the parking lot somewhere now. All evidence of you must be destroyed, after all. We can't have someone without any obvious vital signs walking around."

            "Who's Lord Mort?" Harry asked suddenly. If he was someone evil, Voldemort would be the one to ask. Voldemort chocked on his cigarette, wheezed slightly and managed to gasp:

            "What?"

            "Lord Mort, you obviously know who he is, and he's obviously rather evil if just his name gave you, almighty Dark Lord, that kind of reaction. You've smoke coming out of your ears, by the way." After several minutes of hacking, gagging, choking and generally being dramatic, Voldemort disappeared. "He was helpful," Harry said.

            "What'd you ask him?" Jack asked, magically appearing at Harry's shoulder. It was amazing how someone could materialize like that. But then, there is something slightly amazing about having a dead person following you around.

            "Who Lord Mort is."

            "I'm not surprised," Jack said dryly. "He's probably one of the only people that knows the full extent of Mort's wrath." His face fell. "I shouldn't have told you that," he said.

            "So this Lord Mort guy has power over Voldemort and a wrath," Harry said. "And no one wants to talk about him. Just tell me who he is. Even Voldemort's scared of him."

            "I told you to forget about him," Jack said suddenly. "And I intended that to be an order. Do you have any luggage you need to pick up? I want to get out of here."

            "No, Voldemort burned it." Harry walked along for awhile, thinking. "What about my Firebolt and cloak?" Harry became aware that his right pocket was a bit bulgier and there was a broomstick in his hand. "Ah, that answers that question, then."

            "So . . ." Jack said, obviously not intending to really say anything at all but merely seeing if there was anything in particular Harry wanted to ask. They two walked on in silence for a bit and once they were down to the subway that would transport them to the main terminal Jack finally asked: "What is it exactly that you're planning to do here? Live as a Muggle? Find love? Anything in specific at all or are we just going to wander around?"

            "I think," Harry said, already adjusting to the fact that people stared at him when he spoke out loud to loudly. "I think first I should show my passport to prove that we're – I'm, sorry – not in the country illegally. Then perhaps I will find lodging but I honestly don't think Colorado is the place for me to be."

            A little girl walked over to Harry and pulled gently on his cloak. He looked down and raised his eyebrows. "Are you Harry Potter?" she asked, revealing a space where her two front teeth should have been. "You look an awful lot like him." Harry wasn't sure what to say, when the girl's mother rescued him."

            "Now, now Kara. Harry Potter isn't a real person, remember? He's only real in storybooks." She looked at Harry. "Sorry, sir. She has a bit of an overactive imagination and that Rowling woman's books don't help the situation."

            "Oh, it happens all the time," Harry said dazedly. "No problem." I ignoring the little girl's shrieks about his being British, Harry looked out the window at the walls of the small subway system that transported passengers from the concourses to the terminal. "This is rather high-tech for an airport," he said.

            Jack grinned. "America is the biggest, baddest nation in the world."

            "Patriotic, are we?"

            "Very." Climbing off of the subway, Harry glanced around. The terminal was bloody massive. There were restaurants, bars, and even a hotel. The map in front of him was also telling him there was an arcade somewhere on the premises.

            "You're right. This is the biggest, baddest airport I've ever been into." Harry continued to gaze around in wonder.

            "And how many airports have you ever set foot into before?" Jack asked, walking along next to him.

            "Two, if you count this one."

            "Ah. Customs is to your left, Harry."

            Customs seemed to take forever. Not quite as long as my experience with customs in Cancun (God, did that take forever) but it was still painful. Harry did not have a passport, so he had to produce one out of thin air. There were several advantages to being a wizard when you went through customs. After about one and a half hours (A/n: Honestly, the only time I've ever been through customs is in Cancun. I have no idea how long customs in Denver would take.) Harry walked down to the luggage claim.

            "Now what do I do?" Harry asked. "I've no clue. I've never been to America before this."

            "Do you have a driver's license?"

            "Not an American one, no. Come to that, I've never taken a driver's test. But how hard can it be?"

            "I think public transport would be the way to go," Jack said abruptly. "If you've never driven before in your life I'm not going to let you tackle to roads of America, especially Denver." He grabbed Harry's arm. "Bus pick-up is over there."

A/n: And so Harry boy is in America. What shall his adventures be? And what shall happen in the next epic chapter? Chapter 5'll come faster, I promise. But for now, thou must be content to read my insane bio and review this story. *evil grin* And you will do that, won't you?


End file.
